The Nar Shaddaa Massacre
by icey cold
Summary: KotOR 2 A mission to the Nar Shaddaa Red Light District goes terribly wrong for the Exile and her companions...and not merely due to the crushing echo of the planet. Now complete. Yay!
1. Default Chapter

**The Nar Shaddaa Massacre**

_Okay guys, you know the drill! I don't own any of the TSL cast, they all belong to Obsidian Entertainment...but for the purpose of this story, let's just say I'm borrowing them._

8-8-8

After saving Dantooine from the mercenaries and freeing Master Vrook, Nova had decided it was time to head to a place where she could get a strong drink. (And if she knew Master Zez-Kai Ell as well as she thought she did, chances were that he'd be joining her.) Nar Shaddaa, the "Smuggler's Moon" seemed to be the proper place to lay low for awhile. With the appearance of Visas Marr, the Exile no longer felt safe in the Ebon Hawk anymore. If one Sith Assassin could infiltrate it…how many others could too?

Nar Shaddaa was as good a place as any. It was populated enough to get lost in and large enough to be obscure. So long as she didn't attract the attention of the exchange, she'd be all set. It was also a great place to earn some credits and would hopefully provide the crew with some distraction. Moisture evaporators and pastoral hills were driving Atton mad, Kreia restless, Bao-Dur mindless and Disciple homesick.

"We're going to Nar Shaddaa."

Atton gave a large whoop of approval. "There's music to my ears!"

"Do you not think it wiser to go to Onderon first and deal with the instability there?" Kreia's arms were crossed in disapproval; her frown directed more towards Atton then the Exile. "There may yet be a Nar Shaddaa when we return, but if we delay, Onderon may already be lost to us."

Considering just who was on Onderon at that moment, Nova shook her head. "No, Kreia, I'm not ready for Onderon yet." She sensed the older woman's ire through the Force and carried on easily, "it would be foolish of me to march into the middle of a civil war with my connection to the Force as weak as it is."

"She is right," the Miraluka agreed gently. "If she goes to Onderon now, she will fall."

"There is one on Onderon who can stop that from happening," returned Kreia cryptically.

Nova did her best to stop the blush rising up the collar of her tunic. "We're not going to Onderon. I think Master Kavar can handle things there for awhile."

Atton gave her a sidelong look. "And what else is he good at 'handling?'"

"Stuffy, pushy nerf herders." Nova flicked some hair over her shoulder, a gesture of aloofness.

"Hey! Who are you calling stuffy? As soon as we get on that rock," Atton checked the chronometer on his belt, "in one standard hour, I'll be off this ship and in the Red Light District faster than you can say 'Pure Pazaak.'"

"The Red Light District?" Nova frowned, pushing the embarrassment (that was just begging to be addressed) she felt from the Disciple at arm's length. Somewhere in her mind a plan was forming and she didn't need any temptations to distract her. "How familiar with the area are you?"

"Are you kidding?" Atton scratched the back of his neck, seemingly nonchalant despite the menacing look Kreia was giving him. "It's like my second home."

A tiny little worm of pain squirmed itself into Nova's heart. That wasn't quite what she wanted to hear. A second home? No doubt he was keeping track in his head the number of seconds he'd gone without a busty Twi'lek or whatever else they served there.

"So you know it well, 'Atton?'"

Kreia was really testing the scoundrel's nerves. That question mark she deliberately added every time she said his name…if the Exile was as brilliant as she appeared it wouldn't be long. "Yeah, I know it pretty well. "

Nova gazed thoughtfully into the ghostly planetary outline of Nar Shaddaa hovering in front of her. "T3, where's Nar Shaddaa's red light district?"

"Beep boop…dwoooo."

"What do you mean, 'which one?'" asked the Exile, "how many are there?"

"It depends on which of the spaceports you land at," Atton explained. "I'll be taking us in by the refugee sector. It's where I go to hide."

"The refugee sector," nodded Nova, "that sounds alright."

"You are planning something."

Nova grinned at Kreia, her smile lopsided, dangerous.

The Disciple blinked in surprise; she didn't look like herself anymore. It wasn't just her appearance; it was her presence in the Force. It was altered, skewed. "Would you care to tell us then?"

Titling forward on her tiptoes and then back on her heels, Nova tapped her fingers against her thighs. "We don't have any leads on the planet. Its been my experience in the past that places like the Red Light District are filled with excellent sources of information."

"People will spill anything for the right number of credits," confirmed Atton.

Visas bowed her in disagreement. "Are you sure these people will be no different?"

Atton raised an eyebrow, looking at her suspiciously. "You don't get out much, do you?"

"She was a Sith slave, 'Atton.' To ask for anything less than _blind obedience _would be _foolish._"

Atton had much preferred being called a "fool" by Kreia as opposed to this constant reminding of his commitment. Kreia was a manipulative schutta and she didn't try to hide it.

"Atton, Kreia, we'll treat each other with respect, thank-you-very-much," chided Nova. "Visas isn't a slave. Not anymore."

"I serve you, Exile," Visas whispered, "my life for yours."

"We serve each other with our lives," corrected Nova, "we're a team. We fight for each other. We defend each other. Its what," she looked pointedly at Kreia, "_friends _do."

Bao-Dur closed his eyes, remembering a moment a decade ago where a Jedi General had rallied her forces together, inspiring them to run forward and face the Mandalorians head on.

_"We fight together! We fight for each other…we defend each other!" She wiped the blood out of her eyes with the back of a torn sleeve. "Our strength lies in our friendship and when we work as one, we will win. The victory is shared, the tears are shed, the blood is shared…but I know you can defeat them." Her lightsaber hissed to life. "I know you can win, because you have each other." _

It was what made traveling with the Exile so painful.

"Friends aren't expendable," continued Nova, her gaze still on Kreia, "so that's why we've got to stick together. Strength in numbers. It will only take one group of thugs to kill any of us when we're caught alone."

_"Stay by the sides of your comrades. It only takes one contingent of Mandalorians to massacre a small unit. Likewise, it'll only take a small unit to massacre lone Mandalorians." _

"And if we're lucky…"

_"And if we're lucky…" _

"…if we stick with each other and don't abandon ourselves to ruin…"

_"…if we stick with each other, and don't abandon ourselves to ruin…"_

"We'll all walk out of this alive."

_"We'll all walk out of this alive." _

Kreia gave a tisk of disapproval. "You are the leader of this group, Exile, you will do as you think is best, though I hope you have considered my warnings."

Nova nodded in respect. "Your fears are concerned and noted."

"But what's the plan?" Atton shifted the holographic image of Nar Shaddaa so that the refugee sector was magnified fifty times its size. "We can either land here, on one of these docking pads or push comes to shove we can always land directly in the Red Light."

"I think we should land here," Nova tapped the Red Light District's 'Lite' Zone.

"The Lite Zone, eh?" Atton thought for a moment, recalling the small area that served as the buffer between commercial Nar Shaddaa and the brothels. "It'll be pretty busy. Especially at night."

"Its much easier to get lost in a crowd than a deserted street," the Exile closed down the holomap. "Trust me, I know. Bonadan is very strict about enforcing its 'no weapons' rule."

"Heh," Atton gave a weak laugh, "you don't have to tell me that."

"So you plan to land in the Nar Shaddaa Lite Zone," questioned the Disciple carefully, "and question the locals?"

"Sort of," Nova's unsettling grin returned. "But more specifically, we're going to play a little game of _pretend._"

"Doot doot dooooo."

Nova rolled her eyes at Atton's snickering beside her. "Gee, thanks, T3."

Kreia folded her gnarled hands within her robe; perhaps searching for some hidden treasure or weapon tucked away. "What did the droid say?"

"He said - "

"No, Atton," Nova hit him lightly in the chest. "It doesn't matter what he said, Kreia."

"Any more pretending and - "

Nova titled her head to the side and smiled sweetly at the scoundrel. "Atton, I'm the one with lightsaber here. Now is your left hand valuable to you, or are you going to keep provoking me?"

Atton looked over the top of her head as he tried to formulate some witty, trademark response, but instead found himself narrowing his eyes as he watched the Disciple's rapt gaze on the Exile's face. So the pretty-boy Jedi had a little crush on their leader. Well, there was only one man on the ship who had flirting rights and that was _him. _"Hey, at least it never gets a headache."

"You two are giving _me _a headache," snapped Kreia wearily. "Now what is this plan, Exile?"

"We're going to become bounty hunters." Nova bobbed her head in a gesture of concession. "Now I know you think I'm crazy, but I've done it before. We can't be Jedi when we land. We've got to be…hard, nasty space scum."

"And just who is going on this…expedition," asked Kreia. "Neither I nor the Miraluka can go with you, Exile."

"I was going to take Atton, Disciple and Bao-Dur."

"General?" Bao-Dur opened his eyes; the serene expression that was permanently glued to his face now colored with some interest.

"Me?" Disciple looked horror struck for a moment.

"They'll probably dress Blondie up like a dancer and put him to work," commented Atton lazily, sidling next to Nova in an overly casual manner.

"Now, Atton - " Nova began, interrupted by another of Kreia's questions.

"And who is going to lead them? You?"

"It's not as strange as you'd think." Atton rested his shoulder against Nova's. "There are plenty of women spacers out there, damn mean schuttas too."

"Still…" Kreia looked at Nova thoughtfully from beneath her hood, sightless eyes seeing what others could not.

"When I was on the _Harbinger _I grabbed my extra change of clothes from the footlocker. I only had two. The brown civilian garb and my smuggler leather." Nova touched her Jedi robes fondly. "These just weren't important anymore."

"Wait a minute," Atton quickly whirled Nova to face him. "You've been holding out on me? You had leather and you didn't share that information?"

Nova smirked. "I thought you only liked me in my skivvies."

"I'd like you a lot more in leather."

"Not with out- "

The Disciple's polite cough was very charming in its innocence. "The more time we speak, the less time we have to prepare. There is bound to be a docking authority who will want some form of payment."

"He's right. If you are going to do something, do it quickly," advised Kreia.

"Right," Nova nodded her head in agreement. "I'm quickly going to get changed. Bao-Dur, find the biggest and baddest weapons we've got and upgrade them. Atton…" she glanced at the Disciple briefly, "Disciple needs some engine grease and leather. Give him some of your clothes."

"They'll be too big across the chest," protested Atton to Nova's back, "he'll be swimming in them! …swimming in them like a firaxa shark."

"I look forward to this no more than you," said Disciple calmly. "But it is what she wishes."

"Yeah, but if the clothes don't fit you, its not my fault." Atton gestured for the Disciple to move to the male cabins.

Sometime later Nova returned to the common room, discovering Atton looking very moody and Disciple looking very…wow. Atton was taller than the Disciple, and leaner too, so Nova hadn't expected his clothes to fit so…nicely. Some of the outfit was his own: the black boots and gloves, the black pants…but without the beige tunic he looked much older. Sporting one of Atton's extra vests in red and a shirt also in black, he was no longer the Jedi Novice, but a young smuggler with a promising future. Though there was something off about the whole look…

"Atton?"

"Yeah?"

"Where's the stuff you use on your hair?"

"I…I don't use anything on my hair!"

"Yes you do. Could you find it for me?" she cocked out a hip in question.

She was on to him. Again. "…Yeah." Atton sighed in defeat. "I could."

Atton left, leaving Nova and Disciple alone as precious moments ticked on by.

"I never thought I'd see you in anything other than Jedi robes," said Disciple slowly. "I think I prefer you in those best."

"Don't you like my outfit?"

"Oh its nice, very flattering," he smiled at her gently, "but its not you. Not the real you." The black leather pants with their light blue racing stripe, the matching color shirt…the black vest…garnished fully in metallic zippers…the Exile may have looked like a smuggler, but he felt the difference. Mercenaries who had worked for the Republic didn't feel so…inherently good.

"You've been with us for all of a week, Disciple." Nova toyed with the lightsabers clipped on to her belt. "You don't really know any of us."

"Well if that is the case, then I am looking forward to getting to know you."

Nova adjusted the tight ponytail her at the back of her head, the weight odd to the even braids she so often tacked above her ears. "And I'm looking forward to getting to know you too, Di."

He fidgeted subtly with one of the zippers on a back pocket. "I never thought I'd be wearing this one day. It is certainly a new experience."

"I think," Nova wandered over to him and grasped the collar of his vest gently, "that you look very nice, Di. And maybe," she grinned, "you'd indulge me more often by wearing that."

"Well I don't know - "

The Exile laughed and patted his shoulders playfully. "Of course you do. But I can hear Atton and Bao-Dur, so take a seat. We can discuss it later."

Disciple did as he was told, easing himself into a chair near the makeshift pazaak table.

"I found it!" Atton returned clutching a small silver cylinder. Bao-Dur was at his heels, two large repeaters and five small blasters in his arms.

Nova took the gel from Atton when her proffered it to her. "Thank you, Atton!"

"You're welcome…"

Straddling the Disciple in the chair, she rested her elbows on his shoulders, ignoring the shocked looks from the scoundrel and the soldier. Carefully opening the cylinder, she scooped out a fair portion of clear goop and smeared it on the Disciple's hair, slicking it back over his head and behind his ears.

"The hair can make or break you," explained Nova casually, arranging certain strands specifically. She tightened her thighs around the Disciple when he began to shift beneath her uneasily. "If its too sleazy, no one will take you seriously. Leave it too loose, you'll be lynched." Then with a thoughtful look on her face, she dabbed some of the gel on her scalp, destroying any wisp's chance of escaping the ponytail. Satisfied that both she and Disciple were ready to face Nar Shaddaa as hardened space rats, she turned her attention to Bao-Dur. Disciple rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants as soon as Nova had abandoned him for the Zabrak.

Bao-Dur handed her two pistols to put into her holster and gave a single pistol the Disciple who had followed after her. Atton and Nova were to carry two blaster pistols where as Bao-Dur and Disciple would carry one in addition to the heavy repeater.

Nova was about to go and do a last minute check on T3 before strapping herself in for landing, but Atton quickly grabbed her arm.

"Hey, you can't walk around Nar Shaddaa with your lightsabers!"

The Exile had stared at him with an odd look before dropping her gaze to her waist. "A Jedi's primary weapon is her…oh…right." She laughed. "I was the one who said we couldn't look like Jedi."

So it was that when Atton landed the ship in the Lite Zone of Nar Shaddaa, Nova and Disciple left the ship without their lightsabers, relying only one the one or two small daggers on their possession as well as their blasters. Yet regaining her abilities in the Force, Nova thought it a good exercise. Besides, with a little Force Persuade (like the docking fee she had wavered) nothing could go wrong.

It was night on Nar Shaddaa, but that didn't mean that the city slept. In the Lite Zone, there were swarms of people: drunks, merchants, thugs, beggars, droids…all flitted before and through the grand archway highlighted with garish neon red lights. A woman was shrieking in the distance, there were the scattered cries of smaller creatures being trampled by the mob, the grunting of sellers as they reached their bargain price…every scum imaginable thrived and survived in the barren wastes that the Smuggler's Moon called streets.

The group of four was quite a ways from the entrance to the Red Light Zone, yet the transitional barrier seemed so close to them. The air was hot and hazy from the many bodies; and the thrumming, pounding, music from the clubs vibrated through their legs and into the pits of their stomachs. It awoke something dark and primitive, so deep that it mirrored the echo that was slowly reaching out towards them and clutch at their ankles. Here among the stench and the reek of hard living and decay there was a perfect sort of vibrancy. Death mingled with the living, stalking them at every corner, and yet the people lived and wasted their lives fully.

The Exile found it intoxicating. She could feel her head lifting right off her shoulders…a feeling not so dissimilar from the one she'd experienced on Malachor V when the vibrations of the guns were throbbing all around her. As she was then, she was now: the leader. She walked with confident and purposeful steps, no movement frivolous and no energy wasted. Atton trotted just behind her in his usual swaggering fashion. Disciple walked with uneasy steps, stopping and faltering every few feet while Bao-Dur provided some solid anchorage as he brought up the rear. This motley crew was going to save the galaxy.

"General."

Nova glanced over her shoulder to find Bao-Dur shoulder-to-shoulder with a pale looking Disciple. It had been a request to stop. Atton gestured with his head to an alley. Nova glanced between the dark recess and the bright archway that was so close to them and gestured for them to follow her.

With a pragmatic skip to her walk, she led them beyond the curve of the alley, out of sight of the crowd. Disciple leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, his forehead beaded with sweat. "I'm…I'm sorry," he whispered.

Confused, Nova slowly lowered her guard so that she could touch his mind. As soon as she had, she was assaulted by a wave of violent and passionate images. She had been trained from an early age to filter them out, but the Disciple was lacking the advanced teaching. He was suffering from the full effects of this exposure. Now that he had become "aware" of the Force again, his mind was more vulnerable to the extremities of _human _thought.

Pushing the Disciple against the wall, she rested her forehead against his, their breaths commingling. "You have _nothing _to be sorry for."

"I…I can't go in there." His voice was strained…tired.

"Listen to me, Disciple," Nova grasped his face in her hands, her thumbs smoothing over the skin at the corners of his mouth. "We're a team. If you don't go in, then we can't go in."

"But if I do…" he turned pleading blue eyes on her, "I'll lose myself."

Nova shook her head. "No. You won't."

"I can't…"

The Exile moved her mouth to his ear, her words whispered, her breath hot. "Close your eyes for me, Disciple. Close them…" she stroked his cheek gently, "now hear my voice. Just hear my voice…can you hear the currents in it? The _currents, _Disciple?"

"Y-yes…"

"Good," she smiled against the side of his face. "That's good. Focus on those currents, wrap them around you…feel their tender arms embrace you…" She felt him suck in a shaky in take of breath. "I want you to look at the world, are you with me? Look at the world _through _those currents…and remember that I'm here to help you."

"You're…here to help me…"

"Yes…I'm here to help you." Her thumb grazed his bottom lip, "when you're in danger find _me. _Hold onto me as I'm holding onto you like this."

"Like...like this."

"You never have to be afraid, Disciple." _You'll never have to walk alone as I did._

_You will walk with me._

She caressed him fondly. "I will always walk with you...now breathe in...a deep breathe..." She touched her hand to his chest for emphasis. "One breath of air, one breath of renewal."

Disciple did his best to follow her instructions and as soon as he had filled his lungs, she closed her eyes and focused a wave of concentrated, malleable Force into his mind to heal the damage done by the exposure.

The Disciple jerked in her arms, the air rushing out of him as he collapsed against the wall with a sigh, his eyes blinking owlishly in the dim light. His head felt remarkably clear, no longer was he dancing through lurid dreams of red lust and hatred. He only felt the quiet, protective presence of the Exile in his mind and the feel of her body pressed up against him, her hands lying on his chest, her chin tucked into the crook of his neck. He heard her steady breathing and used it to regain his own rhythm, reestablishing himself tentatively into the Force. He wondered if this is what the Exile felt. "I…can't hear anything anymore."

Nova slid away from, smiling perhaps at the unspoken question. She tapped her temple with a finger. _All the damage done to you in this galaxy is created here. _

Her student nodded in return. _I…understand. _

_"Protect it. To protect it gives you strength away from pain...pain that could otherwise disable you. Feel the quiet and embrace it." It is in your nature..._

_"I shall do my best."_

The Exile's smile was fleeting. "I know."


	2. Part 2

**The Nar Shaddaa Massacre (2)**

Atton caught the Exile's arm as she turned towards him and Bao-Dur, finally finished with the Disciple. Seeing her pressed against the pretty boy hadn't just sparked jealousy in Atton, but had also given him a rather uncomfortable physical side effect too. He might not have been able to hear their conversation, but the Exile was acting suggestive enough to…nah. He wasn't her type. "Is Blondie going to be alright?"

"_Disciple_," corrected Nova softly, "is going to be fine." She didn't seem the worse the wear for the encounter.

"I am," said Disciple weakly, picking up the repeater that he had dropped to the ground in his haze. "I feel much better already."

Bao-Dur had already moved in to inspect if there was any damage done to the weapon. His remote twittered quietly by his head as his skilled fingers checked the carapace for dents and other debilitating damage.

"So what was wrong?" asked Atton.

Nova gently tapped the hand Atton had on her arm and he removed it quickly. "Nar Shaddaa…that's what's wrong."

"There's a lot of wrongness about Nar Shaddaa. Has been forever."

"Well, Atton, wrongness to a Jedi and wrongness to you probably fall into two different categories." The Exile gripped her earlobes between a thumb and forefinger. "A Jedi can hear what you can't."

Atton frowned. "Yeah, I guessed that…but how come you can't hear it?"

"Who spent her time training among the Jedi and who got sent to the Republic Fleet?" Nova's eyes darted to the Disciple who was speaking quietly with the Zabrak. "He'll be fine though."

"Well, there's a relief." Atton turned his head quickly so no one could see him rolling his eyes. "Wouldn't want our third prize Jedi to drop dead on us."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Nova," called Atton as he moved steadily away.

Nova flipped out her blasters, aiming them at Atton's back as he walked back to the light of the Nar Shaddaa Lite Zone. The _click _of their metallic bodies leaving her holsters echoed down the narrow alley towards him. Disciple and Bao-Dur raised their heads at the sound, looking shocked as their leader stood poised to fire upon a friend and team member.

"General…"

Atton stopped in mid-stride, glancing over his shoulder to see the glinting white of the Exile's teeth in the dim light. A shadow fell across her eyes, so all he could see was her mouth. He'd seen her fool around with a blaster before and guessed she had one eye closed for maximum accuracy. Women were so damned confusing. "Are you gonna shoot or what?"

_Don't provoke me. _"Bang." The Exile took a step towards him. "Bang." Another step forward. "Bang." She came closer. "Bang." Slowly she crossed the distance between them, poking the tips of her blasters into his back. "I've shot you eight times. At this range it'll be fatal."

"Yeah?" Atton ducked low, one leg knocking behind her knees while he used his hips to bump her up against the wall. He swiveled his upper body towards her, his own blasters in his hands and holding a steady position pointing at her chest. He made sure her arms were trapped firmly behind her. "Look, you might be a Jedi, sweetheart, but I'm Atton Rand."

"'Atton?'" asked Nova.

Atton blinked in surprise. That was the same tone Kreia used, the one that indicated a doubt of his true identity. She couldn't possibly know… "I'm Atton all right…about as Atton as I'll ever be."

Nova tested out his grip on her by subtly trying to wedge her blasters between her body and the wall. However, she found herself trapped good and tight. "Well, you're certainly not the Queen of Onderon."

Atton shifted slightly, relieving the pressure of her belt buckle on a more sensitive area. "And you're not the proper little Jedi you're supposed to be."

"I'm the nasty space schutta. I didn't make any pretenses about being proper." The Exile gently rolled her shoulders against the wall for some form of traction. "I did rescue you in my skivvies, remember?"

"Ree reee reee reeeet!" Bao-Dur's little removed hovered over to them, twirling around Atton's head. "Reeet reet reeet!"

"Hey!"

Nova grinned, bumping her head against Atton's chin gently. "So that's what you're doing in there!"

"I don't think he _ever _forgot, General," said Bao-Dur, a rare smile playing on his hard features.

Atton made a move to swipe the droid away, but in the process lost his balance and allowed the Exile the room she needed to wiggle free.

"And _I_ need _you_, huh?" asked Nova with an all knowing smirk. She shifted her weight onto her tiptoes, breaking Atton's purchase on her abdomen and freeing the pressure on her arms. He had bony hips. Or perhaps it was just his holsters. "Who's going to keep this team in line if I'm not around? Which brings me to the inevitable question…did you get the lesson, Atton, or are we going to have to repeat it?"

"If it means you pinned against the wall, then I'm game."

"Team work, nerf herder," chided Nova, leaning into him and then stepping easily away from the wall. She slipped her blaster pistols back into their holsters, fingers dancing over straps and leather to secure them properly. "If I'd shot you, we'd have - "

"Look, spare me the Jedi lectures." Atton was busy with his own weapons. "I can get them from old the schutta back on the ship if I'm ever desperate to waste my time."

"I can already see you're desperate for something," teased Nova with a small chuckle. "You'll get plenty of that…if we even make it into the Red Light District."

"For a Jedi," Atton jammed his hands in his pockets, jerking his head in a _let's go _motion, "I think you'll like the RLD."

"Probably much more than I liked Dantooine. Farmers, kinrath, Master Vrook…"

Forming up again, the group left the sanctity of the dark alley. Leaving in their wake the glares from shadowy occupants in the upper tenements and the shifting silhouettes of armored thugs, ignoring the danger that was literally two steps behind them, they emerged back into the heated throng of people and glaring lights. Shifting and picking their way carefully among the masses, the industrial archway of flashing and grimy lights not too far away, they struggled not to be swept up.

Atton and Nova had seen similar sights on their respective stops throughout the galaxy, losing themselves in the heated bodies as the law chased breathlessly at their heels. They could tune out the desperate cries of the venders selling their wares, chittering in tongues they could vaguely make out. In a sense they were slumming it, going to the easiest people in the easiest sector found within twenty systems. Disciple, with his newly shielded mind, kept his eyes focused on the back of the Exile's head, stepping where she stepped, losing himself in her so that he didn't lose himself in the crowd. Bao-Dur was the most alert, capable of withstanding Nar Shaddaa's toxic grip and culture as well as its certain death and danger. His eyes were the ones that scanned warily about them, using some sense that he didn't even know he possessed to make sure they were safe.

The transition from one area to the next was surprising. As soon as the group has passed the bustle in and out of the arch, they found the Red Light District to be relatively empty. Naturally there were groups of people milling around in crooked lines in order to gain entrance to a brothel or risqué club. It was basically just a labyrinth of narrow side streets branching off from the main street, each narrow ally connecting to another. The high rises were relatively low in this part of the city and it appeared from their angle that the Lite Zone actually encircled the area. There were two main entrances; the other one winked at them from the far end of the compound. No doubt that there were also other entrances and exits hidden in sewers or gang hideouts…

Nova steered the group to the entrance of a rather docile looking building, making use of the dim light to get her bearings. "So where do we go from here, Atton?"

Atton rubbed his chin, looking over the area. "That depends on what you're looking for…"

"I think she wants to find a club, Atton," suggested Disciple.

The scoundrel gave the other Jedi a withering look. "No I had no idea. You know what - "

Nova pinched the bridge of her nose, ignoring the conversation. She turned to Bao-Dur and gave him a grateful smile. "At least you're a voice of reason. Can you try and control their testosterone battle for me?" She made an over-exaggerated lean towards him, throwing her voice loud enough to be heard by the other two, "you can use your Zabrak conditioning if you like!"

Atton seemed to stop, sending the leader's favor slipping from his fingers. Disciple adjusted the weapon on his shoulder with a seemingly innocent expression on his face.

"So now that we're not going to stick each other like mynocks," the Exile threw her gaze to Atton, "very 'manly' mynocks, that is… let's get our plan formulated." Nova tapped her chronometer; "it's getting late, so we're actually in the best position to get what we want now. We need to find a bar, a nice sleazy bar… any ideas, Mr. Its-My-Second-Home?"

"Well, seeing as you're not the type for a dancing girl by your side - "

"Don't presume to make any judgements about me, Atton."

Atton bit his tongue in response. "Fine, seeing as we're not looking for any action, I'd suggest we head to the _Gammorean Princess_."

"The…_Gammorean Princess_?" Bao-Dur looked rather skeptical. "Isn't there anywhere else?"

"I know it sounds stupid, but see, its run by these pair of Rodians," explained Atton.

Nova tapped her chin idly, as if lost in thought. "They're not sisters, are they?"

"Yeah!" Atton was afraid she was reading his mind. "How'd you know?"

The Exile grinned. "Just a guess."

"Right…"

Disciple half raised his hand, interjecting himself into the conversation to ask a question. "But how are we going to get information we need from the civilians?"

"Credits," supplied Atton.

"Persuasion," corrected Nova. "I'm not losing any credits on this mission."

Atton shook his head, tendrils of hair scattering across his face. "Look, short of selling yourself, sweetheart, they're not going to buy it."

"Atton," said Nova quietly, "hypothetically…"

"Oh frag, not another lecture!"

"If I were to touch you like this." Nova splayed her hands on Atton's chest, "and whisper in your ear to tell me your secrets…and if you were totally wasted and too spiced to think straight," her smile stitched itself to the right side of her face, "wouldn't you want to share them with me?"

Atton thought about it for a moment, liking the feel of her hands on his body and wanting to keep them there. "I think…I'd take you to the nearest dark corner."

"Wouldn't we all," muttered Nova darkly, shoving her hands into the tight pockets of her pants. "In light of Atton's confession, you have to establish characters. Atton's already got the lecherous copilot down. Bao-Dur, you're the ship's mechanic…you're our muscle."

"Just like old times, General?" the Zabrak's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Nova nodded. "No talk and no nonsense, that's how I like my troops. And Disciple…" she looked forlornly at the golden example of purity in black leather and hair gel. "I think you need a cigarra."

"Will I have to smoke it?" Disciple asked quietly.

"I'm afraid so…" Nova abruptly stuck her hand into the sole pocket on Atton's pants, searching for the smooth case of cigarras she knew he kept hidden there. She had caught him gazing at them longingly while on Peragus.

Atton's eyes bulged at the intrusion, the part of him that he couldn't keep in control following suit.

With a triumphant smile, the Exile pulled the silver cylinder out and flipped it open to reveal twelve cigarras and a built in lighter. She took one between her fingers and with an apologetic smile, offered it to Disciple who took it with a gracious nod of his head. She lighted it for him, watching the poor man inhale the smoke, his eyes watering at the taste and the sensation. Nova knew exactly what the first try was like and as a result had never picked up another cigarra again. She couldn't quite get over the fact that she was purposely killing herself…it contradicted her whole calling as a Jedi.

Feeling surprisingly sorry for the pucker faced Disciple, Atton contemplated helping him.

"All the studies the Republic has made," muttered Disciple sadly, holding the offending object to his lips awkwardly. He took a small puff, which was followed by a hacking cough.

"Shhhh," cooed Nova, rubbing his back, "not so loud."

His voice cracked from the dryness in his throat. "I won't become addicted, will I?"

"Its only a façade, Di," assured the Exile, "nothing to be worried about."

Bao-Dur looked on passively, frowning to himself about their current circumstance. "Its unlike you, General, to give others these tasks."

"I know, I'd do it myself, but…" she cast an anxious glance at Disciple's hair and then at his face. "The lightside shows strong in those who can't hide themselves."

"And why is your glow any different, General?" questioned the Zabrak carefully. "You are no less good than he."

As Disciple was raising his hand for another puff, Atton quickly gripped it and gave it a shake, sending the cigarra's ash dropping to the pavement. "Always shake it free of the ash, it keeps the flavor."

Disciple nodded. "Thank you, Atton."

Nova shrugged. "I've just had a more complete training, I guess. I'm not going darkside," she winked at him, "if that's what you're hinting at."

A rather vicious cough wracked the Disciple and Atton thought that for a moment the boy was going to spew his guts all over the ground. He took a deep breath, making sure that the Exile was looking at his target in question, and plucked the cigarra from Disciple's hand. "You just take it easy there, okay? You're gonna get sick if you keep it up."

The Disciple nodded weakly.

"Now you hold a cigarra like this," Atton held the smoke between his index and middle finger. "Only rookies hold it between their thumb and forefinger. And you don't want to look like a rookie where we're going."

"I understand."

"Here, take it back…" Atton held out the cigarra, and watched with a critical eye as the Disciple grasped just as Atton did. "Great. Now let's see you inhale."

Disciple did as he was asked, taking a drag off his cigarra.

Atton watched with some bemusement at the copious amount of noxious fumes he was consuming. "You smoke 'em like this." Atton stole his case back from the Exile, sifting through the cigarras before finding one that seemed particularly pleasing. He placed it between his lips and with a comment of "Corellian best!" he lit it with the casual, arrogant swagger he'd perfected over the years.

"There's a whole science to attitude, Di," explained Nova as Disciple watched Atton's 'technique' with a curious expression on his face. "If you sound the part and if you believe it, then others will too."

"I'll need a few moments then," said Disciple with some finality.

Atton shook his head. "Let's see how you handle that schutta first."

The Exile placed her hand on Atton's arm. "No, give him some time alone." She jerked her head in the direction of the next overhead light. "We're going to be right over there. Is five feet enough distance for you?"

Disciple laughed softly. "Yes, it'll be fine, thank you."

"Alright…come get us when you've figured yourself out. Just remember, you're the rookie," and with that Nova left him to his own devices.

Keeping herself attuned to the Force, the Exile monitored all the movements she could sense. The most sensitive of footfalls were magnified in her mind; the presence of individuals two blocks down; the faint energy of droids as they worked to clean the streets…she was aware. And from what she was feeling in the Force…so were Atton and Bao-Dur.

"…But that's not the real secret about the place." Atton took the cigarra from his mouth and tapped the ashes on the ground.

Bao-Dur looked at the cigarra with a look of revulsion; the smell was beginning to bother him. "Atton, are you going to put that out or what?" He had about the same effect as someone telling Atton that 'his wife and three kids' were waiting for him on Alderaan.

Atton wouldn't go near Alderaan even for a million credits. Well, maybe for half a million credits. A hundred thousand credits… "What! And waste one of the finest smokes to come out of Corellia?" Hell, he didn't even _have _a wife! "I thought you Zabraks could withstand harsh conditions. Are you getting soft or something?"

"Soft? Atton, I think that cigarra may be affecting your head more than you know…"

"Look, one cigarra's not gonna kill me."

Bao-Dur looked at the Exile, looking out at the darkness with a piercing gaze. "Be a part of the team, Atton." The machine of war had taught Bao-Dur many things. The least of which being the knowledge that even the smallest distraction, the smallest _pleasure _could destroy everything. It had happened to the Jedi, it could happen again.

"Keep some for the club, Atton," advised Nova absently, "that's the whole reason you lit one, right?"

"I haven't had one of these babies since before Peragus." Atton took a deep drag and released a pleasant sigh, smoking circling about his face. "I couldn't smoke them in my cell and I couldn't smoke them on the station in case I lit something on fire."

"Smoking in a fuel depot, heh…" Nova was careful to breathe through her nose as the smoke drifted towards her, "I wouldn't have put it past you."

"And I couldn't smoke on the ship," continued Atton sourly, "because there's some vicious old scow who keeps complaining she can't breathe the minute the thought gets in my head…"

The Exile whole-heartedly agreed. "She does always have something to complain about."

The scoundrel took another drag. "The hyperdrive is ticking, the landings are too rough, she can't meditate properly…I had enough of complaints when I was in the army."

Nova's face snapped to look at him. "You were in the army?"

Realizing his mistake, Atton nodded his head quickly and tried to come up with a plausible excuse. "Oh yeah…the…militia!"

"Militia?" Nova raised an eyebrow. "What planet?"

"Hey! What's with the questions all of a sudden?"

"I just wanted to know what planet's militia you served on…"

"Look, if it weren't for me, we'd still be stuck on - "

"I'd like a cigarra," drawled a very proper, cutting voice. "Now, if you please."

"Sure thing," Atton opened his case and tossed the Disciple a cigarra (one of the damaged ones), adding, "Rookie," for good measure. "Just no light."

Nova turned to face her student, finding herself impressed with the casual and arrogant manner he was handling himself. Leaning with his shoulder again the wall, cigarra pressed between his lips, arms folded across his chest. The large repeater hung over his back in a manner that just dared someone to pick a fight. In the flickering light he looked like someone completely different. To an outsider he seemed like one of those cultured, upper class thugs who had been left too much money by their "mysteriously deceased" parents. Gambling, whoring and drinking it away had led to a hardened lifestyle.

How the Golden Boy of the Ebon Hawk had managed to change his attitude was one thing, but he hadn't quite changed his "presence." Living in both her mind and his, she could feel the ebb and flow of "good" energy around him.

"Do you like what you see?"

"Di? If you had been like this on Dantooine, I don't know if I'd have shot you or kissed you. How'd you pull it off?"

Disciple closed his eyes in thought, breaking out of his persona for a few brief moments to relate his inspiration. "As an intern with the Republic scientists, I and many like me, where put under the watch of junior assistants. One of them shouldn't have been there. He was an arrogant fellow, always trying to undermine his colleagues by sabotage and secrecy. I'm merely mimicking what I saw of him. His stance, his temperament…" He opened them again, his fragile mask slipping over his face again. "But I don't think that's important."

"Can I call you Di?" asked Nova.

He nodded.

"So Di, Bao-Dur and Atton," Nova dipped her head low in agreement. "I'm just 'Captain' to you lot."

"Actually," Atton tapped the Exile on the shoulder to get her attention. "Don't call me Atton."

"Why?" Nova cocked her head to one side. "Does this have something to do with your 'militia' service, 'Atton?'"

There it was again! That inflection on his name! It sent a cold dread to the pit of his stomach and Atton had to keep himself from breathing too deeply on his cigarra. "No, it doesn't. Its just I don't go by 'Atton' in these parts."

The Exile grinned. "Embarrassed?"

"No!" Atton tapped his cigarra in an irritate fashion. "Look just call me 'Jaq.' And no more of those questions!"

"'Jaq.'" Nova mulled over the name. "As in 'Jaq me up all night?'"

Atton returned the cigarra to his lips. "Hey, if that's what you want."

"Keep your pants on flyboy, I'm not that drunk yet." The Exile quickly ran her hand over her head, smoothing some stray bits. "Alright, any questions?"

"Where is this club, Atton?" asked Bao-Dur.

"And what do we do once we get there?" continued Disciple.

"The _Gammorean Princess _is down one of these side streets, off the main strip," explained Atton, gesturing to an alley located further on down their side of the street. "It may not seem like much, but it's got it where it counts. Trust me."

"Alright, Atton, you'll take point as you know the way. Once we get in there, that's a different story." Nova pulled the group in for a close huddle. "We're a crew of smugglers just in for a quick drink and good frag before we pick up our shipment of spice. Who we got it from and where it's going is confidential. Make friends with the ladies, boys, and pump 'em for all they're worth." She shot them a knowing look; "I can handle the men. Di, don't be afraid to use a mind trick or two if nothing seems to be working. Atton, we're not really here for women so don't waste our credits and Bao-Dur, don't let them pick any fights with you."

The huddle dispersed.

"You've got your orders, troops," Nova clapped her hands together for emphasis. "Now let's form up and find ourselves some leads."

8-8-8

_And that was chapter 2. Good to see that everyone's enjoying it so far - hang on tight, I'll try and keep y'all happy._


	3. Part 3

_A/N: Uh…let's pretend I wrote this a couple of years ago... Sorry:(_

-----

The _Gammorean Princess _turned out to be exactly where and how Atton had described. It was small, out of the way, sleazy and the smell…well, they had all known Hutts who'd smelled better. There was a lingering odor of decay in the air and some sharp, pungent taste that entered their mouths if they breathed too deeply…

"Watch yourselves," whispered Atton carefully. "Some diluted toxins in the air."

Nova swept her eyes about the place as they entered. A thug to the left, pimps to the right, beyond the writhing mass of dancing bodies was the bar. Her hands danced along the straps of her blasters and she walked easier and with more confidence. There was a sway to her hips and an arrogant cock of her head. This space schutta owned the joint.

Among the dead zones of the Force, places where the crippling screams of ravaged children echoed and the moans of the defiled dead raged, there was often much activity. There was so much chaos: a constant and rapid moving of a planet about its sun; and so much entropy: the plating of the ship's hull was hot to the touch due to a malfunction in the cooling units as excess heat flooded ship and body. Or if one was unlucky to enough to travel too far to the fringe, one saw themselves staring into a black chasm that looked ready to suck everything inside. The Force kept some semblance of order in the random transition of matter and mass into new forms…it created balance. Jedi relied on finding the balance to retain equilibrium among the mass of thoughts and emotions they were subject to. Sans grounding, without being able to anchor themselves…it wasn't not unheard of for Jedi to go mad.

"Yeah, I'm going to the bar for a drink, boys." Nova snapped her wrist beyond the rave to the neon orange highlighted strip of metal. "You play nice or its keel-hauling time, hear it out fine?"

Atton hooked his fingers in his belt loops and gave a smug look. "So what if I want a juma?"

"Then you had best keep out of her way," replied Disciple with a cutting tone.

"Hey, don't need to tell me twice." The pilot patted his chest. "I've been on enough crews to - "

"I'm sure," 'Di' interrupted.

Atton blinked. The little pawn was talking back and he wasn't convinced that it was solely his persona speaking. "Well, let's see you in the middle of - "

"You might as well take your past experience and - "

Bao-Dur looked about warily, then motioned to the space where Nova had been. "I don't think it really mattered to the G…Captain."

The group of three shared a look before they scattered.

Bao-Dur remained fixed at the door's position, guarding the escape route. He alone was immune to the toxic perfume of the ladies in waiting lurking in some back room not too far away. There was a menacing quality to the play of the lights off his features…his eyes were not visible except for their reflective sheen of blue light from his energy arm, and his horns cast long shadows down his face. His weapon was pulled tight to his side and his legs were spread in a position of defense. There were several other alien species in his same position, but many had succumbed to the temptation of one too many strong drinks and it would not be long before they toppled forward or started to pick fights with each other…

Atton's own destination led him to the opposite end of the bar, where he watched the bartender from the corner of his eye. The orange liquid in his glass had specks of green floating around at its top. Some drug perhaps. Or a poison powdered down and not stirred enough. He shrugged. When strangers bought him drinks he didn't care. He'd done enough of the spice and drank enough of the toxins to be able to handle them in his system for hours at a time. He just needed to pop an antidote-stim as soon as he got back to the ship. After twelve hours his uneasy stomach would go away. He downed the drink.

It left Disciple standing alone, gazing over his shoulder and around the establishment with a look of forlorn hope on his face. Not allowing himself to be lost in the thoughts of others again, he was quick to follow Nova to the bar. Being in closer proximity kept him in an easier position to assert control over himself. If he could focus on her, then he would be safe, he would be okay. Distance was a barrier erected between their minds, and closing it removed the sense of helplessness creeping up his spine. He pushed his way through groping hands and elbowed past the drunks swaying about and using him for balance.

Nova sat with a straight back, her legs straddling the lopsided stool in such a manner that she could easily hook it around her foot and fling it into the air. She felt Disciple flop down on the bar beside her and turned a cool eye towards him. "Something the matter, Di?"

He didn't seem inclined to respond to her, much too intent on studying the tiny swirling tiles beneath the thin layer of dura-plastic lining on the bar top.

"Drink up, pal, last day of shore leave." She nudged him roughly with her elbow and slammed her hand down to get the bartender's attention.

"Whaddll'it be?"

Nova had to think about this one. "Brandy. Vasariun, if you please."

"Right…" The bartender disappeared around the drink rack at the bar's center, obviously searching for the obscure bottle. With any luck it was vintage.

"Getting something, Di?"

Di straightened his back and looked away from her.

"Finding someone to your likin' then?" Nova eyed him with amusement.

Disciple was ignoring her. Nova could almost hear his thoughts echoing inside her head.

You are very distracting, Nova. We're here on a mission, not to have fun and games… 

But of course she doubted that her "student" was capable of actually reaching her thoughts and giving her a message in such a crowded room. In the alleyway there was room to breathe, but here there was no such thing. Nova would settle for her own thoughts.

The first thing on her agenda was to identify possible informants. Usually they were shady men who stood in a corner, pimping out ugly Rodians and Twi'leks to drunken customers or the men surrounded by a few well-armed thugs. These were not the petty crime bosses who thought that a large show of muscle was going to assure them protection, but the savvy ones who went where they wanted and did what they pleased. They were individuals who had bought their power through fear, not by any long-term amount of credits. And if all of these characters were in short supply well…there was always the person who stood behind the bar.

The bartender returned with the amber liquid and Nova flipped a credit chip towards him. As he reached out his hand to catch it, she snatched it back quickly and held up her closed fist. "Information, hm?"

Several pairs of eyes snapped towards her at the sight of her fancy handwork.

"'Ey, girlie, you're lookin' at the wrong person to be speakin' to." The bartender put his hands on his hips, a second pair coming forward with their palms outstretched. "Now I'll be takin' that credit, if ye please."

"Information first," insisted the Jedi Knight again. "You tell me who's got the connections around here and I'll give you all the credits you want…"

The lure of credits was a powerful thing on Nar Shaddaa, and the glint of greedy hunger began to shine in the bartender's eyes.

"All the credits you want…" Echoed Nova again. Subtly she implanted the idea that 'all the credits ever wanted' was actually only double the drink price. Nova felt cheap that night. The Force would get over it.

The bartender, taking a glance over his shoulder, settled himself down carefully on the bar space across from Nova and Disciple. "Ye want to talk to Upmiti…"

Nova raised an eyebrow; Disciple didn't seem to care.

"'E's uh…well, yu'll know if ye see him." He gestured to his left, to one of the darker corners. "'E knows quite a bit. Eyes in'uh back o'his head. 'E 'ears ever'thing too."

"Upmiti…" Nova frowned. "Not Rodian, is it?"

The bartender shrugged and tapped his second set of hands on the table. "Not fer me to tell. Now credits and be on yer way."

Passing the bartender several credits, Nova swilled her drink around until she saw him disappear. Taking a tiny sip, she waited for some explosive sensation that would rip her to the ground but finding none forthcoming, took a larger gulp. The alcohol burned its way down her throat and she sighed, savoring the familiar sensations. If her guard seemed relaxed, truth be told it was. She could close her eyes and feel herself drifting through space as she had those years ago. Not a pleasant feeling, but a well-known one…and it brought her comfort.

"You know I think someone has taken an interest in Bao-Dur."

Disciple's slow drawl brought the Jedi back to the present. "Who?"

He gestured to a Gammorean, swaying and staggering about in front of the Zabrak. The alien's massive weight pulled it in several different directions at once, making for an interesting spectacle as its body tilted back and forth and side to side in a circle. Bao-Dur seemed content ignoring his new "friend" as well as the stench. Neither Atton, Nova nor Disciple envied the Zabrak's usually coveted stoic nature.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Di." Nova took another sip of her drink, eyes half-lidded in concentration.

Disciple glanced at her, cool reserve replaced with a slight sheen of panic on his brow. "You could use the Force…"

"And do what?" Nova put her glass down and lowered her voice. "Pinch a blood vessel in the Gammorean's brain? A sudden aneurysm then death?"

"Persuasion, No-Captain."

"Yes, that's Captain, boy, and don't you forget it."

Disciple sighed and pushed away from the bar, only to be grabbed and pulled back by the full-fledged Jedi.

"Hey, where're you going, pal? You're coming with me." She flung her head in the direction of 'Upmiti.' "You gotta practice your skills, Blondie, if you're gonna make it this world." The tone was mocking; trying to drive a knife into the Disciple's heart and get him riled up. It was best if he was on edge, if the hairs on his neck were already standing up. That way if things went bad, he was already in a position to fight. There would be no hesitation; no time elapsed trying to focus…

Nova drank what was left of her brandy, stood, and ran her hands down her waist and thighs to smooth out any wrinkles. She didn't want a blaster to get caught on her clothing as she pulled it quickly from her holster. Such mistakes were known to kill.

"Follow my lead, Di."

8-8-8

Meanwhile, the friendly Gammorean hovering about Bao-Dur had become somewhat more vicious, poking short, sausage fingers into the Zabrak's chest angrily. (Or it might have been out of jest, but there was so little expression to be had in the black, vacant eyes of the Gammorean that it was hard to pin down the motivation in his tiny, piggy brain.)

Bao-Dur didn't blink as his heavy chest-plate made small metallic _ping_s as the dirty nail of the Gammorean came in contact with it. Nor did he blink when foul breath violated his face and hot, slimy dots of saliva found their way onto his chin. His fingers twitched near the trigger of his repeater, but he closed his eyes, found his center, and did his best to ignore his assailant.

Well, the stoic nature of the Zabrak came to a screeching halt when the Gammorean decided to use its body as a battering ram. After the first initial body blow, Bao-Dur took a measured step to the left. When the second came, he took down his repeater, fired a round into the floor in front of the Gammorean's legs and moved further left. The third time was when he fired a round_into _the Gammorean's legs when it decided to backhand him against the wall.

The repeater fire, however, did not go unnoticed.

8-8-8

The neon lights overhead obscured much of the room as the glare combined with the smoke. The haze of colors played tricks with Atton's eyes as he tried to make out the form of the Exile chatting with some unseen figure in the largest, darkest booth. He could see the sheen of her rear hugging pants, the subtle bend of the light on the fabric as it curved ever so gracefully down…

He took a large gulp of his drink and put it back down on the counter. It was half-empty, it gave him the illusion of being here for quite some time. No one had approached him yet, if they indeed had taken any notice of him. He was just some poor sod, lonely from a life in space.

Nova's hands seemed perched around her thighs. He could make out her wrist and some vague shapes moving which he thought to be her fingers drumming against them. The Disciple stood with his weight cocked on one hip, hands restless at his sides. Atton knew he longed to stand straight-backed, with his hands folded before him like a good subservient puppy.

It unnerved him that the Disciple, because that's what he was to Atton: a fawning and sycophantic wannabe, pulled off a 'civilian' look so well. Whether he was in his Jedi robes or in the garb of a would-be space pirate, Disciple had a certain amount of class to the way he dressed. Atton was lucky just to tuck his pants into his boots, let alone drape cloth.

"_Hey, what's going in here?"  
_

_The Disciple gave a wry smile at Atton's appearance. "Nova was just explaining to me the difference between Jedi life on Dantooine and Coruscant. It is fascinating."  
_

"_Yeah, just as fascinating as examining Hutt slime," Atton remarked, gliding casually over to them and leaning on the wall nearby, stepping all over the back of his robe as he did so. "Though I guess you could say Jedi are like Hutts at times. The old ones, that is."  
_

_Nova found herself somewhat tickled by the thought of a bulbous Master Vrook sliding around on his stomach. "If they were, I doubt the galaxy would even take them seriously. Though perhaps if we sprinkled a bit of sea salt from Manaan on them, they'd disappear from the galaxy forever." _

"_I could think of a few I'd like to do that to," replied the smuggler darkly, glancing down the hall that led to Kreia's sanctuary on the ship.  
_

"_Now, now, Atton," chided Nova softly, "you'd be grumpy too if you had your hand cut off." And be forced to deal with a crew unable to keep themselves in check.  
_

"_It depends on the hand, doesn't it?" was the quick, rather witty remark.  
_

"_Yes, couldn't have you going without playing pazaak…" she gave the Disciple a knowing look as he watched them in mild confusion, "...among other things."_

_Atton shrugged, his arms tangling in the large sleeves of his robes. "Its condition, now…but how do you wear these things? I'd rather be dolled up in a dancer's outfit than this death trap."_

"_I'm sure I could find one for you, Atton," replied Nova with an innocent sip of her water, "though I don't think you've got the hips for it."  
_

"_Yeah, well I'm sure blondie over there does," Atton muttered as he tried to free his left hand.  
_

"_Actually, I'm rather comfortable in my own robes, thank you." The Disciple smiled rather pleasantly, if not a bit too innocently.  
_

_Atton squinted at them for a moment, and then laughed. "Are you two going for Mr. and Mrs. Jedi of the Year or something? You're both dressed to match."  
_

"_Jedi aren't defined by what they wear," repeated the Exile automatically.  
_

_The smuggler titled his head to one side, dark eyebrows rising into his hairline. "That was…creepy."_

"_Sorry," she smiled sheepishly, "habits are hard to break."  
_

"_Good to know that we have you on board as our moral meter." Atton finally managed to free himself with a large sigh of triumph._

The sound of repeater fire echoed in Atton's ears and he casually turned his head over his shoulder to look. A few locks of brown hair twitched and fell over his eye, but he could see the situation well enough. A Gammorean lay bleeding and squealing on the ground while Bao-Dur stood above him with this usual stoic resolve. Other than the new stench of blood, no one seemed to be perturbed at the sight. Atton knew that they'd _really_wandered into a classy establishment when the hired help didn't even throw you out for firing your blaster. Either things were going to get extremely messy extremely quickly, or they were going to have a splendid evening.

He turned back to his drink and took another swig, locking out careless memories. He was just a casual patron of a sleazy bar whose ship mechanic had fired half a round into one of the regular's legs. But that was okay, because Atton was enjoying a nice drink and thinking of screwing Nova over a table of pazaak. He was flipping cards on her back, shouting out the numbers that they represented.

Below the surface of the elaborate exterior, Atton continued to watch the business transaction in the booth. There was a lot more hip-swaying, and head cocking. Disciple's hands were on the blasters at his sides, but as he couldn't see either of their faces he had no idea what was happening. He could only hope that they got what they were looking for quickly. Something in Atton's gut just didn't feel right. Something was off. He couldn't place it, but he knew it was crawling up and down his spine.

One of the patrons beside him brushed his arm as he got up to leave. Atton glared at the non-descript man and then returned back to staring at his crewmates, forgetting the entire thing had even happened. That was when Nova nodded her head and moved back to the bar, smirking from ear to ear like she'd just won something of great importance. Disciple was at her heels, looking broody and sullen. He watched her clap him on the shoulder roughly and mouth something that was probably, "Want me to buy you lots of drinks so you get totally sliced and I can take you back and have my way with you?" Well, not exactly that, but Nova certainly _had _been playing favorites lately.

8-8-8

Nova slapped her hand on the bar for another drink. She perched herself back into her comfort position, ready for any action. Disciple hovered over her shoulder.

"You should let me pay, Captain."

Nova shook her head. "No way, Di, its on me." She flicked her wrist and pulled a credit chit from between two fingers. "On me."

Disciple shook his head. "No, you already bought one round. Its only fair that I should do the same."

"You can buy the drinks if you catch the credit from my hand, boy." Nova winked.

Disciple sighed, and then darted his hand out. Nova ducked forward to dodge the grasp and bellowed in pain as something sharp and hard sliced straight up and over her shoulder. If she hadn't moved forward, it would have impaled her straight through the heart. She floundered across the bar, contracting her stomach muscles tightly so that she could roll safely over the edge. As she came up on the other side she saw Atton standing and pulling out a blaster. Disciple was still on the other side of the bar.

Nova grabbed her blasters and pulled them out, searching for a target to aim. But in the endless sea of bodies, she had no idea who to shoot at. She couldn't sense anyone with any long-lasting ill intent anywhere in the vicinity. Everyone was either drunk or in heat. Wary eyes scanned and muscles tensed. She was a tightly wound coil, ready to spring loose and let out a devastating wave of attacks…but there was no one to focus her energy on. All around her there was silence.

Blaster fire back by the door made her jump and she pivoted, twirling on her toes and re-aiming her blasters in the process. The dance floor was thick and crushing, but she could see the smoking tiling where Bao-Dur had once stood. Another round of blaster fire came ten feet from her left and she turned upon hearing the screams of the crowd. Terrified bodies were now jiving as couples lost their dance partners to a gory and painful death.

Her shoulder throbbed and she could feel the sticky red blood pushing its away down the skin-tight shirt and jacket. But the pain she could push aside, it was getting better, she knew, because she felt the calm and easy presence of the Disciple using the force to close the wound.

"Di, we have to help the crowd and find Bao-Dur!"

8-8-8

Atton wanted to yell, "No!" at the top of his lungs, but he knew that if he did he'd be attracting unwanted attention to himself. He already had his blaster and was target enough as it was. Yet all this seemed eerily familiar, like he was watching a holo-vid that he'd seen before, with the sound partially-muted. He couldn't move fast enough, couldn't react quick enough…all he could do was watch.

"Stop worrying about me! I'm fine now! Check the crowd!" The Exile was moving forward with all the grace of a war-veteran, moving towards the rapidly departing dance-floor.

_+1/-1 makes fifteen or thirteen. _

First you put the civilians in danger so that the Jedi are distracted.

Seconds were flying by as Nova wasted precious time stepping over bodies and ushering people to the door. The dying were at her feet, but she was too concerned with the living, pushing them gently away as the scene started to grow. As more and more blood spilt on the tiles and more blaster shots littered the room, it was a wonder that no one tripped and died.

"Get out of here! Run for help!" She was swiveling and turning, aiming and ducking, all the while playing shepherdess to a braying mass of frightened sheep.

"General!"

_+2/-2 makes sixteen or twelve. _

Then you put their allies in danger, so that the Jedi has to start making choices.

Atton saw Bao-Dur cry out to the Exile and then duck to avoid the meaty fist of another Gammorean. There was a Trandoshan there too, and three or four Rodians as well as a human who were all trying to take shots at him. One lucky fist caught him in the gut, and Bao-Dur staggered back. He pulled his repeater back into position and fired again. Nova was moving towards him then, pistols in hand.

"Stop firing into the crowd!" she roared, swinging a hand out violently to send two Rodians against the wall unconscious. Her pistol was up next and she leveled a shot straight between the Trandoshan's eyes while the Disciple worked behind her to protect the crowd, having snatched a chair from the bar after seeing a few men with vibroblades lurking in the back of the establishment.

Nova took a punch to the mouth for her effort in pistol-whipping the nearest human. After she'd fired at the Trandoshan she'd caught the man's movement out of the corner of her eye. His hand collided with her mouth as the butt of the pistol came into contact with his nose. Both fell back, but Nova was quicker to recover and leveled a snap-kick at the man's head that sent him stumbling towards the dance-floor. When he slipped on the blood and did not rise, Nova returned her attention back to her Zabrak. She spread her legs in a wide battle stance, pistols up and ready again to fire.

Between Bao-Dur's strong hands and her quick shots they made easy work of the rest of the Rodians. She wheeled backwards when she heard something sizzle next to her head. She side-stepped and turned, tracing the angle of the shot back towards a corner of the dance floor. She frowned, the image in her head not matching with the image of the area she'd seen previously. There were definitely fewer bodies…

_+3/-3 makes seventeen or eleven. _

After that, you have to wound the Padawan…it messes with the Master's mind.

"DUCK!"

The Disciple ducked, but the blade skirted across his spine much like it had Nova's. Atton chuckled and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. It was so hard to find a target. He couldn't even remember who was an enemy and who was a friend, everyone looked the same. All the attackers were as slippery and translucent as water. Try as he might, he could not capture them in his mind.

The Exile darted forward, pushing outward with her hands as she did so. A surge of pain cut through her, as well as tremors of panic. The man behind the Disciple rolled away, pulling something shiny out of a pocket as he did so. It spun through the air like an orb of tiny glass, but it was nothing. A simple nudge of the force pushed it out of the air on its collision course towards her face, though it kept careening towards her belt buckle.

Suddenly everything was sticky and gooey. She felt movement at her waist come to a halt and she jerked forward awkwardly as the thick, viscous liquid coated her thighs and knees. Another glinting orb hurtled towards her, this time exploding in her upper back. The cold, thick liquid dripped into the weeping cut on her shoulder and she hissed. It _burnt. _

_+4/-4 makes eighteen or ten. _

Atton liked grenades with magnetic locks, especially ones filled with poison that worked on skin contact. It was so much harder for opponents to push them out of the way.

"Mical! Run!"

Atton's head snapped up. He had never heard her call him by his first name before.

"Bao-Dur! Go!"

The Exile was struggling to hold onto her blasters, but she pushed defiantly on. There was a quiet sort of desperation to the Exile in all her movements, especially now when she seemed to be so close to an end. The most movement she could manage with the thick, viscous liquid on her was a shoulder-raise of her left arm. She could only fire forward and at one height.Somewhere Atton wanted to muse about how appropriate it was for a Jedi to be forced to fight in an honorable, duel-at-sunrise stance while the enemies could make use of the terrain. It certainly leveled the playing field. Jedi had the Force, where as non-Jedi only had their wits.

But what could you do to enemies that you were unable to sense?

"No, Di! Don't touch me! You'll get stuck too! Just RUN!"

Nothing at all, if Atton was honest with himself. The best that anyone could do was to protect themselves until they could free themselves. But making a Jedi choose themselves when others were in danger was no small feat. He was already seeing that in the Disciple, standing their hopelessly lost with his blaster in one hand a chair in the other. Atton wanted to punch him for just_standing _there. Only Bao-Dur had made a quick assessment of the situation and had started to strategically gun down the room from corner to corner while slowly picking his way towards the two Jedi.

Nova's eyes went wide and she jerked forward, puking her night's drinks all over the floor. Instinctively the Disciple had stepped away and reached out to catch her and had gotten her stuck to the front of his chest as a reward. Atton shook his head again to clear his mind because he wasn't sure if the hysterical laughter was his or not. Blondie had become such a soft idiot after his Jedi training. He was such a _doctor. _

But Atton had to pull himself together. Things had gotten ugly, his companions were stupid, and it was time to act and show them how surviving on Nar Shaddaa was done.

_+5/-5 makes nineteen or nine. _

At least this group of combatants weren't so foolish as to run single file straight into Bao-Dur's sights. The best way to kill Jedi was to attack it all at once.

Instead of a blind charge, the enemy made a chorus of blaster fire echo through the room. Orange and red sparks buzzed straight at one target that lay twisted against the chest of another man, gagging and choking on vomit. Yet she was glowing blue, which meant that primal survival instinct had kicked in and she was going to be safe for a little while longer. That is until both she and her lackey succumbed to the planet's silence.

Atton sprinted and skidded across the floor, pulling himself up behind Bao-Dur by the Zabrak's pant leg. "Hey, its time to get going. We've outstayed our welcome! Pick her up and let's go, Blondie!"

"Her feet are stuck to the floor!" grunted the Disciple, struggling to maintain the light blaster reflective shield on both their bodies.

"Then cut them off!" yelled Atton, searching in his pockets for a trusty friend.

"This isn't the time for games, Atton!" grunted the Disciple as he tried to wiggle Nova free.

Atton felt the familiar round surface reach his fingertips. "I'm not gonna die for her, so either get a move on or I'm blowing all of you straight up!"

The Disciple attempted to struggle backward, pulling in vain as Nova remained stuck to the ground. The goo stretched and sucked at her boots, and it was more likely that her boots were going to come clean off her feet than have her escape with them intact. Bao-Dur added his muscle to the desperate attempt at moving her and slowly one boot slipped off with the globular shrieking of chemicals. By this time the men with the blasters had started to pick new targets and Bao-Dur sucked in his breath as a bolt seared his exposed shoulder.

"Move, move, move!" Atton waved them out the door as they slowly tugged and whittled away at the elasticity of the goo.

Bent backwards at an odd angle, Bao-Dur growled out again as another shot sizzled against hip. He lunged forward savagely, his repeater slipping from his shoulder down his arms. But the extra effort, while it had painfully stretched the poor Exile, had freed her. Disciple was quick to steadily run backwards as best he could, the Exile bobbing helplessly against his chest and arms. Bao-Dur hunched his shoulders and run before him, using the last of the reflective shield on the Jedi to help him get out and hold the door open.

Atton had already booked it out from the place and was waiting just beyond the threshold. As soon as the Disciple and Nova had passed by, he threw in the thermal detonators. "We're not safe here." He said quietly. "We have to get back to the ship. Bao-Dur, grab her feet. Disciple, well…" he eyed the stuck together pair. "You just keep holding that half like that." Atton grimaced and looked down at Nova's face. "Can you breathe?"

Nova nodded her head, through her shoulders were still heaving despite her not having anything left in her stomach. She was covered in her own vomit and her eyes had the dull, sickly glaze of meditation. She tried to speak but he shook his head.

"We go now." Atton took point.

8-8-8

Sometime later, Nova lay sleeping quietly in the medical bay. She was pale and clammy to the touch, but they had managed to neutralize the majority of the poison in her system and clean up her cuts and bruises. Once they'd gotten back to the ship she'd dropped into a near comatose state to heal, and the Disciple assured them all that she'd be fine in several hours depending on the severity of the toxin in her system.

Surprisingly, Kreia hadn't given them an earful about what had happened despite her extreme displeasure. They all sensed her frustration, it hung over them all like a thick, black smog.

She only ever spoke to Atton once that night, having cornered him coming from the refresher. She had stood there in her robe like some fat brown spider in a moth's clothing.

"You do know, 'Atton,' just how easy it is to break someone?"

Atton eyed her warily and pulled his jacket tighter around his body. "What's this about now?"

"I know you respect her, and I know you want her to respect you." She smiled, that cryptic little thing that set all his nerves hissing. "But when she learns the truth, she will never forgive you."

"Are you threatening me, you old pretentious hag?" Atton narrowed his eyes angrily.

"I merely comment on just how she perceives you differently than she perceives the Disciple. It is easier for her to forgive hearts that are young and pure. Hearts that are so _similar._"

Atton shrugged, then grinned. Four cards into the pazaak game he had already hit 20. "Well she's never going to forgive you then." And with that, he gave her a mock nod of his head and returned to his bunk for the evening.

Kreia lingered for a few brief moments in the hallway before she too retired.


End file.
